


Ebb and Flow

by Liver_Transplant



Series: Supernatural stuff [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst and Feels, F/M, How Do I Tag, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Gain, Memory Loss, Monthly One Shot Challenge, Stressed Dean Winchester, mentions of nudity, warning: Muleta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 13:00:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21428608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liver_Transplant/pseuds/Liver_Transplant
Summary: With every reincarnation, people lose their memories of their past lives. Dean has suddenly remembered over a thousand years of reincarnations and he finds that he's loved the same person in every one.A voice snapped him out of his reprieve.“Dean. I’ve been looking for you.” It said. There was an inflection of longing, akin to a man in a desert in search of water, who knows if it’s not found soon, surely he shall perish.“I’ve searched every corner of this universe and the next, yet I’m unsurprised to find you here. After all, this is where it all began.”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Supernatural stuff [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1499672
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39
Collections: Destiel Instagram One Shot Contest - November 2019





	Ebb and Flow

**Author's Note:**

> This Fic is for the November Destiel One Shot Contest and utilizes prompt #4; Memory.

A man sat on the edge of a cliff, eyes vacant, trapped in another time. His short-chopped windswept hair blew erratically in the gusts that plagued the precipice, the same gusts that would have made a lesser man shiver. He rested, cold to the world like a statue in a museum. Unable to discern if the figure was alive or dead, birds circled ever closer; pulled in as if trapped in a vortex.

They glided slowly in, feathers fluttering, black pits one could call eyes staring at the being. The first one landed hesitantly at a distance. The creature didn’t move. The bird, a raven, ventured closer. It called to its friends, a harsh noise that felt like a laceration in comparison to the ever-present beating of the waves on the rocky shore beneath and the shrill cacophony of the heavens. 

It flapped its wings impatiently, awaiting its companions who were tentative in comparison. Haltingly they made their way forward, the initial bird leading the small group. They conversed with each other quietly, afraid to scare off the man. When he remained frozen, the bravest of them ventured onto his hand, gently pecking at the exposed skin. He held himself motionless, his face flushed by the biting wind, still entrapped in his mind. 

The birds had surrounded him, getting louder as their presence continued to leave the man unaffected; reassured by his lack of movement. One ventured onto his head, nesting in the soft tufts. It squawked to itself, huddling down in the warmth. The creatures sat like this, coexisting in a way not often seen- a man with beast, almost comrades. Days seemed to pass, but none stirred. 

The man’s mind was fraught with confusion, a maelstrom of words and images. Astoundingly, his inner turmoil did not affect his exterior movements. In his head, he fought with demons who brandished glimpses of long-forgotten memories aloft like a muleta, teasing him then running off to hide deeper in the folds of gray matter. He chased them to no avail, having left with more questions than answers before the game began anew. 

The waves impacted against the rocks uproariously hard, bringing moisture from the stone beneath skyward, finally resting its spray upon his face. The ebb and flow sounded like speech, its deep thunderous melody stirring something in his mind. As he listened, the sounds separated themselves into disjointed but equal songs. After a long while, one broke off from the rest, gaining traction above the anthem of nature.

A voice snapped him out of his reprieve. The birds, startled by the new presence, hastily departed at a speed enough to leave black feathers tumbling loose in the wind. 

“Dean. I’ve been looking for you.” It said. There was an inflection of longing, akin to a man in a desert in search of water, who knows if it’s not found soon, surely he shall perish. 

The man, Dean, did not reply. Nor did he turn, for he knew that if he even glanced upon the figure he would be lost.

“I’ve searched every corner of this universe and the next, yet I’m unsurprised to find you here. After all, this is where it all began.” Unbeknownst to Dean, the eyes of the figure turned hazy as well as he was sucked up into his recollections. They stayed there for a long while, wind beating them till their bones were cold as ice, whilst ocean spray met their uncovered faces. 

So much time had passed, that it seemed a millennia before either person spoke. Dean was the one to break the tension.

“Who are you?” He asked, voice scratchy with disuse. 

The figure stayed silent for a beat.

“You already know.”

Dean felt his resolve crumble, and whatever was holding him back broke. He turned his stiff neck to the creature, taking in blue eyes deeper than the depths of the sea. The creature, that he now recognized as a man, wore a tattered trench coat that billowed in the gale which spread out it like a cloak. 

“Castiel.”

Castiel looked down at Dean, a dry smile in his eyes and a quirk in his lip. 

“That’s me.”

The way the man spoke stirred a memory deep in Dean’s mind, one of the years past and lifetimes ago. He felt himself slipping into his head, into one of the pictures he had been hunting for.

It had been a warm summer's day, the kind where people are finding things to help them keep cool whilst they worked. The woman had left the village to escape said work, but most importantly, the unexpected heatwave. She had snuck off to a remote location in the forest where she knew none other would venture in search of her watering hole. The path she took was well worn and downtrodden from years of her and her friend’s feet wandering through. 

It hadn’t taken long to find the pond, and when she arrived she’d quickly shucked off her garments before jumping in. She’d swam for a time, awaiting her friend. She spun leisurely in the cold water when she heard a rustling coming from the path. She’d felt a grin break free on her face, waiting for her companion to push through the brush. 

“Clarence!” She called out, treading water calmly.

“That’s me.” Clarence emerged from the foliage, leaves sticking to his messy light hair. He looked wrong, Dean thought, but his eyes were the same deep pits of night sky he knew. Clarence looked at Diane, face flushed as he noticed the pile of clothes on the rock next to him. 

“Diane... You’re not wearing any clothes, are you?”

Diane laughed heartily at Clarence’s modesty, “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” She swam over to the edge of the pool, entranced by the flushing boy in front of her.

“Come on in, the waters nice.” She called.

“You know I can’t swim.”

Diane thought, smirking, “Guess you’ll have to learn, then.”

Clarence looked unsure but after a bit, he acquiesced, his clothes joining the pile swiftly. He had sat on the edge of the rocks, his expression dubious. He shouted suddenly as the smaller girl pulled him in, kicking the water frantically and clinging to Diane. The second he realized he was safe, he glared at Diane. 

She leaned forward with little trepidation, plump lips on the verge of connecting to thinner ones. 

“Dean?” He was snapped from his reverie instantaneously with a gasp, confused by his flashback. He found that he’d turned back to the sea, watching the heavens met the churning depths. 

“Those aren't my memories. I don’t know who’s, but they aren’t mine.”

Castiel stayed silent, thinking, “Yes, they are. Just not you as you've come to know yourself. Humans do not normally remember their past lives, but it seems you have.” He twisted his hands, a very human gesture for one so old. 

Dean found that the act tugged at another memory, but he pushed the nagging aside in favor of continuing the conversation. 

“Does that make you Clarence?”

“Yes.”

“All these images I’ve had flashing through my mind, were they all about you and me?”

“Yes.”

“So all these people I see are just you and me?”

“Yes”

“Why? How?” Dean rested his head in his hands, perturbed by the notion. 

“At the beginning of time, before things were written down and recorded by creatures before there was a tangible world, there were angels. I have existed since creation, and in all my years I’d never seen a soul as resilient as yours. You are the righteous man, the best of your kind.” He stepped forward, seating himself next to Dean anterior to continuing, “It is not hard to believe I felt a connection to you, deeper than can be explained by the constraints of mortal language. I watched on for a time, waiting for the right occasion. Then I courted you.”

“So what, you had an angelic bonner for my ass?” Dean jokes, making a failed attempt to lighten the mood.

“Not in so many words, no. I did not have an ‘angelic bonner for your ass’, in fact, your physical appearance had little to do with anything.” He replies, using air quotes. 

Dean simply waved him off, not expecting him to understand anyways. He grunts, encouraging his companion to continue. 

“We fell, as young loves often do, and our infatuation was so substantial it left an imprint of sorts on our souls. When you eventually died, I vowed to stay with you whether you remembered me or not. Throughout the years, I have taken thousands of vessels and we have fallen yet again, locked in a cycle neither care to escape.” He makes eye contact with Dean as he finishes, blue meeting brown like the ground meeting the galaxy. 

Dean swallows his retort, instead asking, “Why have I only remembered this now?” He feels a sort of detached tug somewhere in his chest, but he cares not to identify it. His brain does anyways. Longing.

“I’m not entirely sure, for neither I nor my siblings have been in a situation comparable to ours. My theory is that your soul has finally settled, that is ready to move on to whatever comes next.”

Dean appeared perturbed, “That’s awfully vague.”

“Well, it would mean you are free to choose how you live out your life. You may continue a final ‘hurrah’ as my brother would put it, and spend however long we have with me as we have done countless times, or you may proceed with your days as they were, with no memory of this interaction.” He looked saddened at the latter option but rapidly schooled his features into that of indifference. 

He takes a breath, then resumes, “We were destined to be together, just as Cain was destined to kill Able. Our story is written in the cosmos, it cannot be undone. Since the beginning of time, it has been, and it will always be. No matter what you do, where you go, who you meet; you will always come back to me, and I, to you.”

There's a long pause, “You have a decision to make, one that will affect you now and in every form you possess. Whatever you decide, I shall respect it.”

Dean shifts his weary bones, contemplating the predicament, “I want to go back. Home, that is. I want to keep working at Bobby’s garage and teasing my brother about his damn rabbit food, I want to hold onto what I have.” He considers the man beside him, reaching out to grasp his hand in his own, “But I also feel a fire in my stomach that urges me to you. Whatever the hell that means.”

“You’re conflicted,” Cas states matter-of-factly. 

“Yes, but I think I know what to do. Take me home, Cas, and leave me be. I’ll go back to my routine, and you go back to yours. Should we meet, our bond may connect us once more, maybe not. I don’t know, I don’t want to. Leave it up to fate and chance.” He finished, exhaling a stream of hot air which smoked in comparison to the cold around them. 

“That is doable.” Cas raised his hand to Dean’s forehead, but before he could connect, the larger man stopped him. 

“Wait. Will I remember any of this?” He questioned, holding Castiel’s hand aloft.

“I shall not, and nor will you, why would we remember a dream?” He tilted his head in consideration. Dean started to protest, the words on his lips as Cas brought his fingers back up to his brow, and out of nowhere there was darkness. 

* * *

Two months back, Dean had been roused from his slumber filled with an unexplainable void in his chest. He had lain there, gulping air in, covered in sweat and bafflingly cold for what seemed like years before urging his tired body to get up and take a much-needed shower. He had gone about his day as normal, but something was missing. After a bit, the tear seemed to mend itself and be forgotten, healed over like a wound.

Dean had all but forgotten about that night, swept up in the daily struggles of getting Sam through college, paying bills, feeding himself and his dumbass brother; etc. It was the latter reason he had stopped at the local Gross-Out in his neighborhood, enticed by their cheaper alternatives. He walked down the produce aisle, scanning for a new brand of asparagus that was in season or some shit like that. He found what he was looking for fairly quickly, but stepped up the pace when he noticed a woman leading her small child was going for that last bundle. Dean was anything but petty. 

He stepped up the pace and focused so entirely on getting there first that he didn't perceive the man that was about to walk in front of him, who was equally distracted. They collided, hard. Dean tripped on the man, proceeded to only made it worse trying to catch himself on air, before tumbling to the ground. Somehow in the kerfuffle, he’d ended up underneath the man, who looked immensely perplexed as to the situation. 

Dean sucked in a breath, gazing upon the figure above him. He had the most captivating blue eyes Dean had ever seen, akin to the sun shining down into the depths of the Mariana Trench. He had Sam’s dumb nature documentaries to thank for that factoid. The man also appeared achingly familiar, even though Dean was sure he would remember a face that nice. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you alright?” The man inquired. Dean felt his face flush at the position, but the man’s voice certainly didn't help. He was tilting his head, waiting for a response whilst still positioned atop Dean.

He cleared his throat and choked out a reply, “Would you… Mind moving please?”

“Oh! Yes, of course.” He backpedaled instantaneously, muttering apologies under his breath as he did so. 

“I’m good, I think. How about you?” Dean felt lightheaded, but he couldn't tell if it was because of his proximity to this handsome dude, or falling and hitting his head. The former would be preferred. 

“I’m alright, just a little rattled, is all. Do I know you from somewhere? I’m Castiel, by the way...Sir?” Castiel, as he called himself, looked suddenly distressed by something happening to his face. 

Dean maintained eye contact with Cas, as he’d mentally nicknamed him, while he very sluggishly put his hand to his scalp, and drew in air sharply at the sensation of warm gooey blood coursing from his head. 

He chuckled, “Oops. I’m Dean, just so ya know. No, I don't think we've met.” 

“Huh, odd. Let me help you to your car, erm, would you like to go to the hospital?” Cas asked worriedly. 

Dean hissed as he righted himself, hit by a wave of nausea as he got up, “No hospital, thank you though. I’ll be fine.”

“How about I drive you home, at least. You don't seem to be in any shape to drive.” They were now through the doors and in the parking lot, standing like idiots as Dean held a rag to his bleeding head. He pointed to his car and they made their way to her, Cas worrying the whole way.

The next thirty minutes passed in somewhat of a blur to Dean, never quite losing consciences, but coming close. At some point, Cas had driven him back to the house and let them in, even taking the time to call Sam on Dean’s phone to inform him of what happened. 

By the time Dean’s head cleared enough, Castiel had already left, leaving a note and some Ibuprofen to boot. The note was hastily scrawled on a spare sheet of paper and read as such;

_ Dean, sorry I had to leave early, but I made sure (Brother?) Sam knew and you were alright. I’m really quite sorry, for I feel this is all my fault. Here’s my number; in case you wanted to meet up for coffee or something so I can make it up to you. _

_ -Castiel _

He was hit with an abrupt wave of emotion from left field, a sense of that void being filled just a little as he put the number into his phone and shot off a quick message.

  
  


_ Coffee sounds great. When would you like to meet? _

_ -Dean _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was stupidly fun to write, and I'm ludicrously proud of this. Like, call up your friends at ridiculous hours to read excerpts of it to them. I regret nothing. 
> 
> I have only my brilliant friend The Big D (As they requested to be called ;) ) to thank for help, they were the person who I roped into proofreading this thing and told me what worked and didn't. Thanks, mate, I owe ya one.
> 
> Also! A muleta is the red cape thing on a stick that a Matador uses in bullfighting.


End file.
